


Silent So Long

by Rammstein6669



Category: Rammstein, Tanzwut
Genre: Based off of reality but details are exaggerated, But I tagged it M/M because of the rape scene, East Berlin, Explicit Sexual Content, Gen, Harsh Insults, I just want to expand the Tanzwut tag, Interrogation, It's really not a Tanzwut fic at all, M/M, Physical Abuse, Rammstein - Freeform, Semi-fictitious, Slurs, Stasi, Teufel makes a cameo, Torture, Violence, Wrongful Imprisonment, Young Rammstein, graphic rape scene, there are no romantic relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 22:25:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13467843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rammstein6669/pseuds/Rammstein6669
Summary: "I got sucked into one of the demonstrations on 10th October 1989. All of a sudden I was circled by a bunch of policemen and they carried me off in a truck. After hours of driving it stopped somewhere near Weissensee. At the police station they detained me for three days. For six hours I had to stand against a wall and whenever I moved, they hit me. I had nothing to do with it, really, but the police obviously didn't care…then I realized - I have to leave, I have to get away from here."- Richard Kruspe, 2001





	Silent So Long

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. I think I started writing this in like...maybe 2015?? I think it shows because the first half of the story isn't as well written as the second half, as my writing style developed. But regardless, I'm still relatively content with how it came out. 
> 
> This would take place in 1988 or 1989. I always wanted to write a fic about Richard's experiences with the Stasi (East-Berlin secret police, for those who don't know). Like I mentioned in the tags, some of this most likely happened, while a lot did not. Mental and physical abuse were common in Stasi prisons, but sexual abuse was not (I'm sure it did happen, but it was not commonplace). I tend to get bored writing very quickly, so I end up adding things in to keep myself motivated write and also to make the story more interesting. I personally don't believe Richard experienced sexual abuse there, but I do believe the wrongful imprisonment had a lot to do with his anxiety issues (understandably). He definitely didn't meet Teufel in the prison, but I've been on a Tanzwut kick, and Teufel was also imprisoned by the Stasi, so it fit together really well. 
> 
> But I'll stop before I give away any more. Please head the tags, as this contains pretty intense sexual violence. 
> 
> As usual, this was not Beta'd by anybody, so sorry for the mistakes. Also, please make sure to read the notes at the end as well.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Silent so long**  
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Richard's eyes snapped open as he heard the train conductor talking over the speaker. 

"Next stop in one minute."

Richard cracked his neck and yawned, rubbing his eyes in hopes to wipe away the sleep. Before he knew it the train started screeching to a halt. Once the iron beast stopped, Richard stood and quickly made his way towards the door. 

When he exited, the train platform was fairly empty. It was getting late and he knew he had to make it to Till's house quickly. He bound up the steps leading out of the substation and walked a brisk pace down the sidewalk. However, a loud commotion disturbed him. 

Richard turned a corner to see a large mass of people walking and chanting. He recognized the signs and colors of The New Forum political party. He quickly moved to cross to the other side of the road but he was stopped by a strong grip on his arm. He turned around and was greeted by a collection of Stasi officers charging towards him. He yelled as they grabbed him violently, hands aggressively gripping his neck, head, and arms. He pleaded with desperation but all that earned him was a slap to the face. He fought as they dragged him to their truck, handcuffs locked tightly around his wrists. 

"I didn't do anything!" He hollered angrily. "I wasn't even a part of—" 

Richard grunted as he was punched in the face, hot blood rushing to his cheek. He gave up and let himself be thrown into the truck, body slamming painfully against the hard floor. He slid into the wall as the vehicle quickly sped off, the driver taking turns sharply without concern for the prisoner's safety. The young guitarist pushed himself up so he sat against the wall in hopes to prevent himself from sliding as much. He breathed heavily and panicked, unable to see anything in the dark cab of the truck. His hands shook violently as he hyperventilated, chest full with burning fear. He tried to relax himself by counting but he gave up after an hour. They drove for another two.  
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Richard squinted his eyes as the doors of the truck were opened, light flooding in the previously dark cab. He winced as he was grabbed roughly yet again. He tried to keep up with the officer's fast steps but he simply couldn't. He tripped over his own feet and fell to the ground, unable to catch himself due to the cuffs that bound his hands behind him. He whined as the skin was torn from his knees and shoulders, the guards hauling him up impatiently and dragging him forwards. The pulled him into the grey, sullen building and brought him directly to a desk which stood in the center of the entrance room. 

"Name?" A young, dark-haired man demanded without looking up from his files. 

Richard was too overwhelmed to process what the other had said. 

"I asked you what your name was!" The Stasi official hollered as he looked at the other's pale face. 

"Richard Kruspe." He spoke with fear. 

The young man checked his files with a frown on his face. 

"I have no results for that name." He took a deep breath and spoke sharply. "And this is a not a good place to be lying."

Richard panicked and cursed internally at himself. His limbs trembled as blood dripped down his legs. 

"Sven Kruspe." He corrected. 

The man once again checked his files and pulled out a yellow envelope. 

"Why did you say Richard?" He asked fiercely. 

The young musician stammered as he spoke. 

"I don't like my name." He admitted. "I go by Richard."

"Well, that's not going to be a problem." The official stated with a grin. "You're now number 68. Put him in block C." He said sternly to the guards. He looked at the young guitarist's terrified face and scoffed. "And clean him up."

The guards pulled Richard abruptly and led him down a dimly lit hallway. They took a sharp turn and entered a grey room with a small chair in the center of it. The young musician whimpered as he was thrown onto it and held down by large hands. His eyes widened in horror as one of the guards approached with a large pair of scissors. His chest burned with terror when he was roughly pulled back by his blond dreads, neck bending at a painfully sharp angle. He whined as he felt the scissors tearing through the thick lines of hair, pulling mercilessly at his scalp. He was too terrified to think as a mixture of horror and anger burned in his blood. 

"You can't do this!" He hollered with a voice cracking with fear. However, he was silenced by a sharp slap to the face. He couldn't stop the tears from slowly trickling down his cheekbones as the guards continued to shear his head. 

Much worse was to come. 

The guards abruptly pulled him up and led him back down the hallway. They reached a door and quickly unlocked it, pinning the guitarist to the wall beside it as they removed the handcuffs which cut painfully into his wrists. 

"You are not to talk to the other accused. You are not to look at the other accused. You will sleep only after 10:00. You will sleep on your back and with your hands on your sides. You will not exercise, talk, or sit on the bed during the day. Do you understand?" 

Richard nodded feebly and was then thrown into the cell, a whimper escaping his lips as he landed on his already aching knees. He heard the door slam shut and darkness filled the room, nothing more than a small bulb providing any light. He looked around and took note of his surroundings. There was a solid wood bed against the wall with no bedding on it whatsoever. A small chair was attached to the wall near a toilet. The dark room reeked of chemicals and mold. 

Richard's hands shook as he breathed heavily. He sat on the small chair and ran his fingers through his massacred hair. He gave up and let himself cry quietly, tears blurring his vision and running down his reddened cheeks. He thought of his family and friends. What would they do if they never saw him again? 

The young guitarist was lost in terrified thought when the door to the cell was opened abruptly. A guard entered the room and grabbed him roughly, strong fingers digging into his arms. He pulled him down the hallway and into another room, Richard whimpering with fear. He pushed the young musician against a wall where five other prisoners stood. 

"Don't move." He commanded. 

Richard stood still as the guard walked by the other prisoners, inspecting with distaste. The guitarist turned his head to look at the others and the guard noticed. He quickly made his way over and unsheathed his baton. Richard screamed in pain as the solid plastic struck the center of his back, sharp stings of pain shooting up his spine. He grunted when his head was pushed into the cement wall behind him, body collapsing to the floor when his knees gave out. He whimpered as he was kicked in the abdomen, pain radiating up his ribs. He tried his best to protect himself but it was pointless. 

Richard whimpered as the guard hauled him up to his feet. He was silenced by a hard slap to the cheek. 

"Now, you will answer each of my questions truthfully." The guard spoke with anger, staring at Richard intently. "Why were you taking part in the protest?" 

"I wasn't!" Richard answered with desperation. "I was just coming up from the train stat–" _Another slap._

"I said answer truthfully!" The guard yelled in his face. "Who organized the protest?" 

"I swear I don't know." Richard responded with fear. He grunted with pain as his head was slammed into the solid wall behind him. 

"Take him out of here! And bring him to room 102!" The interrogator hollered to another guard who stood in the doorway. He promptly made his way to the young guitarist and grabbed him roughly by the arm. 

Richard whined as he was dragged down yet another dim hallway. His entire body ached, bruises already starting to form on his back and sides. His vision was slightly blurred as the guard opened a door to another room that was pitch black. He grunted as he was thrown into the small room, hands scraping on the cement floor. The door closed behind him with a loud bang, the sound of the keys jangling in the lock echoing throughout the hall. He slid over so his back rested against the cold wall. He breathed heavily and held his head in his hands, body trembling with a mixture of fear, anxiety, and exhaustion. He gasped when he heard a sound come from the other side of the dim room. He saw a large, muscular prisoner sitting on a tiny chair in the corner. Richard was shocked to see another person in the same cell. 

The young guitarist tried to keep his eyes off of the other because he didn't dare to be caught interacting. However, every time he glanced up he found the other staring directly at him. 

"Hi," Richard spoke quietly. 

The larger prisoner stood up and approached the other, his large frame and height very imposing. 

"Hey," he whispered with a deep rumbling voice. 

Richard watched with fear as the other approached him slowly, a sharp grin spreading across his face. He was heavily muscled and was much taller than Richard. The young guitarist stood up as the other got too close, however, he was grabbed harshly by the neck. He gasped for breath as the larger man pushed him hard against the wall. He tried to pry the other's hands off but it was no use. 

"Calm down, pretty boy." The larger inmate spoke with a harsh smile. 

Richard tried to remain still but his body shook desperately. He could feel his chest tightening and constricting with anxiety, his lungs desperate for oxygen. He fought as he was dragged to the wooden bed on the other side of the room. The other inmate quickly spun him around and pushed his face onto the solid wood, the young guitarist wincing in pain. 

"You got quite a mouth on you." He spoke with a large grin, hands still tightly holding the other down. "Let's see what you can do with it."

Richard whined as he was thrown to the ground, a large hand coiling tightly in his hair. He watched with terrified fear as the other quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. The sight of the large and solid cock in front of him made Richard nauseous. He tried to pull away but the large inmate held him firmly in place. 

"Open wide." He demanded with sadistic pleasure. 

The young guitarist winced as the other pulled his jaw open. He closed his eyes and gave up as he felt the hot hardness enter his mouth. He gagged at the thick taste and smell of masculinity that immediately attacked his senses. The large cock was repeatedly thrust down his throat. Harder. Deeper. The feeling of the larger inmate's length colliding with the back of his throat sent Richard over the edge. He gagged violently and tried to inhale but there was no air to be had. Bitter and acrid bile rose from his stomach, but it had nowhere to go. Completely disgusted with the trembling frame before him, the larger man immediately pulled out and threw him to the ground. Richard moaned as he writhed on the floor, tears rolling down his face as his stomach continued to empty its contents. The taste of the other man refused to leave his mouth despite the harsh stomach acid that lingered on his teeth and tongue. He was so distraught that he couldn't hear nor register the other's words. 

"You disgusting piece of shit." He spoke angrily. He looked at the feeble prisoner before him and grew infuriated. "If I can't jack off using your mouth then I'll use something else!"

Richard whimpered as the other grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. He grunted in pain as the larger inmate pushed him against the solid wooden bed yet again. He screamed with terror as he felt his pants and briefs pulled past his hips, however, he was too weak from his nausea to fight back. He groaned in unbearable agony as the other forced his way in, nothing more than spit being used to ease the entry. Richard's lungs refused to intake oxygen as the larger inmate thrust into him. The violation grew more and more aggressive, the other's hips slapping against the young guitarist's skin with each thrust. After no more than a minute of torture, Richard felt warm rivers of blood trickle slowly down his thighs. He could do nothing but scream in pain as tears rolled down his reddened cheeks. He could feel the other's burning arousal deep inside of him. Every thrust pushed him roughly against the solid table, his own length trapped painfully tight between himself and the wood. Eventually, it grew to be too much. 

Richard felt himself slipping away from consciousness. His groans of pain grew quieter and he began to lose track of what was happening. He readily accepted the darkness, anything was better than this torture. 

The last thing he recalled was the feeling of something wet and hot dripping deep inside of him as the other groaned with completion.  
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Richard slowly opened his eyes to a dark room. He glanced around and tried to regain his bearings. Where was he?

A feeling of cold nausea spread in his stomach as he recalled where he was and what had happened. He realized he was lying face down on the cold, cement floor. He tried to push himself up but a sharp jolt of pain shot through his body. He groaned at the memory of what had happened. He craned his head back to look at himself. He cringed. 

His pants and briefs were still in a pile around his knees. He could see trails of dried blood on his legs. He took a deep breath and let his head fall back to the floor. He tried to keep the tears in but it was futile. He sobbed quietly out of the fear of someone coming in and seeing his ravaged state. 

Outside the guards talked quietly. 

"How did it go?" The younger man questioned. 

"It went well for what it was." The larger guard spoke quietly. "He passed out at the end but he'll definitely remember it." He paused and belched loudly before continuing with a grin. "I made sure to leave his pants down so he knows it happened. Bring him to interrogation again tonight. If he knows anything he'll tell it."  
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Richard was crying face down on the floor when a harsh voice over the loudspeakers startled him. 

"Everyone in bed now. Guards will be around to check sleeping positions."

Richard groaned in agony. He took a deep breath and once again tried to push himself off of the floor. He whimpered in pain as he rose to his feet, every part of his body sore and aching. He winced as he pulled his pants and briefs back up before walking slowly to the bed. He eased himself onto his back, the hard wood making it even more painful on his bruised body. He closed his eyes and tried to keep his mind blank; however, he couldn't prevent the horrid memories from coming back. 

He started to doze off, the day's exhaustion finally reaching him. Right as his mind finally cleared, a blindingly bright light was turned on above him. He gasped with shock, terrified that the guards were coming to get him again. He fearfully waited to be taken, but they never came. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the light went back out. He started to fall back asleep, assuming it was just a mistake. However, right as he was about to sleep, the light turned on again. 

It happened over and over, preventing the young guitarist from sleeping. By the seventh time, Richard was no longer concerned about the guards coming to get him, he was simply exhausted. He groaned in frustration as the light turned on yet again, his eyes having a hard time adjusting from the rapid change. He had no longer been concerned about the guards, so when the door to the cell was flung open, he screamed with fear. However, it was not what he expected. 

Richard watched with fear as a young boy was thrown harshly into the room, a grunt escaping from his diaphragm as he landed hard on his ribs. He cursed under his breath as he slowly rose to his knees, scuttling backwards and resting against the cold, cement wall. The guitarist watched silently, the other's eyes widening with surprise when he saw him. Richard was hesitant to talk to him after what had happened, but his injured face and general demeanor slightly eased his anxiety. 

"Hi." Richard finally spoke quietly as he sat up. 

The younger boy hushed him hurriedly and put a finger up to his own mouth to signal silence. He slowly rose off of the ground and made his way to the steel door, putting his ear up to it and listening closely. After a few minutes, he backed away and sat back down on the cold floor.

"They listen to make sure you don't talk."

Richard was unsure of what to do. He wanted to talk to him, but he was terrified of everyone in this wretched place. Luckily he spoke first. 

"What're you here for?" He questioned curiously, pushing his hair back out of his face. 

"Nothing." Richard spoke with a voice rough from disuse. "I was walking by a protest and they thought I was part of it." 

The other shook his head in disgust. "Bad luck, man. Sorry to hear it."

Richard took a deep breath and pulled his legs up to his chest, wincing at the pain that ran like electricity through his back and head. "What about you?"

"Ha," the other grinned before looking at him with a peculiar fire in his eyes. "They caught me playing music in the street. Not the first time, either."

"You're a musician?" Richard questioned with surprise. 

"Mhmm," he responded quietly. "Have been for quite some time now."

"I'm a guitarist." Richard spoke softly. His chest tightened at the thought of his only passion being stripped from him. "What do you play?"

"Bunch of stuff." The other responded with a shrug, head resting back against the wall. "Shawms, horns, guitar, whatever I can get my hands on really. Although my favorite is bagpipes." 

Richard made a soft noise of acknowledgment and rested his head on his forearms. He couldn't believe this was happening. He just wanted to go home and see Till. 

"What's your name?" 

Richard looked up to see the other staring at him. He looked at his face for a moment, bloody, bruised, and swollen. 

"I'm Richard." He responded after a small pause, unsure of whether to say his real name or not. "You?"

"I'm Mike, but you can call me Teufel."

Richard smiled softly at the other's comment, now having a slightly better understanding of his tenacity and mettle. He had a feeling that he could really connect with him. 

"What happened you your face?" He asked sensitively. Blood was dried onto his face and his left eye was nearly swollen shut. 

"Bastards tried to take my instruments from me so I fought back. It doesn't go over well when there's four of them and one of you." He spoke softly. He yawned and let his head fall back against the wall behind him.

They remained silent for a short while, Richard repeatedly struggling to keep the tears back. He was exhausted and he wanted nothing more than to be back home, back with Till. 

"You have people waiting for you back at home?" The younger musician asked softly, almost as if reading the other's mind. 

"Only friends." Richard stated bluntly. "My bandmates."

"I get it." The other responded, pushing his hair back out of his face. "My parents aren't a fan of the whole music thing. I'm lucky to have others in the same scene."

Richard nodded in agreement and took a deep breath to try to relax himself. Just as he had closed his eyes in an attempt to clear his mind, the door to the cell was once again flung open with a loud, rattling bang. Richard jumped and emitted a short scream as he scuttled backwards and away from the door. 

"Prisoner 79, out now!" The guard commanded with a harsh yell. However, the younger musician did not move. 

The Stasi officers stormed into the room and approached him. He rose to his feet but was immediately grabbed roughly by the guards, wincing as they folded his arms behind his back. They proceeded to haul him out of the room, the teenager struggling and resisting the entire time. 

"Don't ever stop playing, Richard!" He screamed with a grin as they tried to pry his hands from the doorway. "Don't let them take your spark!" 

Richard watched with terror as one of the guards grabbed him by the hair and smashed his head against the cement doorway, rendering him unconscious. The guitarist gasped with shock and desperation, but he was too terrified from what had happened to try to intervene. They dragged him out of the room and slammed the door shut, leaving Richard alone in the darkness. He shook as tears formed on his eyelashes, and he wrapped his arms tighter around himself. He was lost.  
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Once a few hours had gone by, Richard had lost all sense of time. He didn't know how long he had been in this wretched place. Whether it be hours or days. He couldn't focus his eyes and his entire body throbbed with jolting pain. He struggled to breathe, as his throat and sinuses were congested from his crying and the assault. He ran his hands across his ragged head, more tears spilling at the thought of his tattered hair. They had stripped him of everything he had. 

The door to the cell was opened abruptly, once again causing him to sit up in terror. 

"Out." The guard commanded sternly. "Now!"

Richard didn't hesitate to get off of the bed, a choked groan escaping his throat at the pain in his legs and pelvis. He hurriedly shuffled to the door, whimpering as the guard grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed him forwards. He was led down a musty hallway with a single menacing door at the very end. The walk seemed to take forever, and he struggled to keep up with the guard's fast pace. They entered the door and Richard realized he was in the same interrogation room as before. He was once again pushed against the wall and commanded to remain motionless. This time, he didn't need a reminder. 

The guard commanded him to hold his arms out straight, which he did immediately. Richard's arms eventually shook violently as he struggled to hold them up for the seemingly endless minutes than went by. One of the other prisoners gave in and let his fall to his sides, thus resulting in a harsh beating. The young guitarist breathed heavily and knew he was reaching his limit. The official stalked over and stared at him with a bemused expression. 

"Aww, would you look at that." He sneered as he looked closely at his damp eyes. "Looks like this one has been crying." He reached out and pinched his cheek before wiping the tears off. "He seems like a little faggot, huh? All of those Schwerin boys are pillow biters anyways." He joked with one of the other officers who stood in the doorway, grinning. "I bet he likes taking it up the ass." He laughed with a mock sweetness. "How about we take a look."

Richard choked back a sob as the guard pushed his throbbing arms down to his sides, turned him around, and quickly pulled his pants and briefs down. 

"Well, I'll be damned!" The officer gasped before laughing heartily. "Looks like the fairy got some recently." The other approached and sniggered loudly at the sight of his bruised and bloodied body before landing a hard slap on his ass. 

Richard's chest tightened as he struggled to fight back a sob, but he couldn't contain it any longer when the guard called the other prisoners over to gawk at him as well. Their laughter, some of it real and some of it forced, buzzed loudly in his head. He couldn't take it anymore, so he gave in and let his body collapse to the floor. The guard immediately yelled at him to get up, but he couldn't force himself to move. The official landed a hard kick directly to his already aching groin, making him cry out in pain. He curled in on himself and attempted to shield his stomach and head from their abuse, but it was futile. He felt completely weak and useless. 

Eventually, the pummeling kicks halted, leaving Richard gasping on the ground. He struggled to breathe as splitting pain tightly gripped his chest. He heard the guard command him up over the ringing in his ears and he strained to rise off of the ground. He stood up and used the wall as support, tears still gathering on his eyelashes. 

"Pull your pants up, whore." The official demanded with a disgusted scowl. 

Pain shot through Richard's ribs as he reached down to pull his clothing back onto his body. He was broken. 

"I'll ask you again." The guard spoke sternly. "Who organized the protest?"

"I don't know." Richard responded in utter defeat, his voice small and wavering. 

"Is there going to be another?" He questioned sharply. 

"I don't know." The young musician answered with fear. 

A loud crack resounded through the room as the guard slapped him in the face. 

"Who organized the protest?"

"I don't know."

_Slap._

"Who organized the protest?"

"I don't know."

_Slap._

_The warm trickle of blood from his nose and lip._

"Who organized the fucking protest!?"

"I don't know!"

Richard awaited another slap; however, none came. He slowly opened his eyes to see the interrogator staring at him with an unreadable expression. 

“Take him out and bring him up front.” He spoke suddenly, leveled, as he motioned for the other guard. 

Richard’s breaths were rapid and stuttering as the guard grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed him hurriedly out of the room. The young musician was terrified of what was going to happen. His anxiety riddled mind conjured up images of torture worse than he had already endured, and tears began to form on his eyelashes. The thoughts crushed his final spark of hope, and he gave in. He understood there was nothing he could do. He was at the mercy of these cruel monsters, and he didn’t have the energy left to fight anymore. However, he was startled out of his thoughts by a firm voice barking out an order. 

“Get in.”

Richard glanced up to see a small, dark room directly in front of him. It didn’t appear to be made out of cement like all of the other rooms. Instead, it looked like thin metal. The guard that was holding him pushed him in harshly, sending him toppling to the ground. He immediately registered the fact that the room was freezing compared to the rest of the building. He heard the door, or doors, more accurately, being slammed shut behind him, and he was left in total darkness. He heard a muffled sound from outside, and he struggled to make out what it was. Suddenly, the sound of a vehicle groaning to life made him scream with shock. He remained motionless and silent for a moment until he felt jerking movement. He realized he was in a truck, and it was moving! He felt a surge of conflicting emotions rush over him, not sure which one was the strongest. Why were they moving him? Were they taking him to another prison...somewhere worse? His entire body was trembling, and he couldn’t tell whether it was from his fear or from the cold. He blindly felt his way towards the corner of the small space, pulling his legs up to his body and wrapping his arms around them. He tried his best to stay awake in order to stay aware of what was happening around him. However, his exhaustion and sleep deprivation were much stronger than his will to remain awake. Eventually, he let his head sink onto his forearms, and he was quick to fall into a restless sleep.  
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Richard fell in and out of sleep, every bump they drove over jostling him into wakefulness. He had just moved his head to rest against the wall behind him, once again dozing off, before the vehicle came to an abrupt stop. He opened his eyes and immediately pushed himself further into the corner, trying to appear as small as possible. After a seemingly endless wait, the doors were flung open, and Richard held his breath. 

“Out. Now.”

Richard didn’t hesitate to obey, rising up to his feet with a pained grunt and walking out of the truck. When his eyes readjusted to the bright lights he was introduced to, his heart nearly stopped. 

Tall buildings, lights, streets. 

Berlin. 

He was standing in the middle of East Berlin. 

Before he had a chance to ask what was going on, the guard once again shut the doors to the truck before reentering the cab. Richard watched silently as the truck quickly drove away, and he still couldn’t move. 

He was out. They had let him go, just like that. 

He glanced around, expecting to see guards ready to haul him back to the prison. But he saw nobody. The streets were empty. He took a deep breath and tried to figure out what to do, but he was lost. He recognized where he was, but it was a long ways from his house. He was delusional with exhaustion, and the only option that came to his mind was Till. Had he thought it through, he would have gone to the hospital, or maybe even gotten a taxi and headed home. However, he wasn’t in a logical mindset. 

He began walking towards his bandmate’s house, his body on autopilot. For the first time in days, his mind was quiet. He listened to the sound of the wind blowing leaves across the ground, the faint noise of a car horn in the distance. He was confused. He didn’t understand why they had let him go. He tried to come to a conclusion, but nothing made sense. Before he could think about it any more, he realized he was standing outside of Till’s house. He had made it. He stood silently in front of the door, his body shivering harshly in the cold. For some reason, he couldn’t find the energy to knock. He stood there, silently, his hands balled into tight fists by his sides until he felt a sudden bout of nausea and lightheadedness. He breathed rapidly, his chest feeling unbearably tight. He lunged forward and knocked loudly on the door, wiping away the tears that blurred his vision. He watched as lights turned on in the house, and he sighed heavily when he heard the door being unlocked. It opened slowly to reveal Till, who was dressed only in boxers and a T-shirt, standing there with confusion. 

“Reesh?” He spoke softly, squinting in an attempt to better make out what he was seeing through the darkness. “Oh my god.”

Till rushed forward, and Richard collapsed willingly into his arms. The smaller man cried loudly against his chest, all of the emotion from the previous days flooding out without restraint. Till gently pulled him inside of the house, shutting the door with his foot before almost carrying the other onto the couch. Richard struggled to breathe as Till continued to hold him, running his hand over his butchered hair. 

“Reesh, talk to me.” Till spoke softly and with serious concern. “What happened?”

Richard couldn’t even begin to describe what had happened to him. The only thing he could recognize was the burning dryness on his throat. 

“I need water.” The younger man responded softly, his voice rough with disuse. 

Till immediately got up, only to quickly return with a glass of water and some bread. He helped Richard sit up, and the smaller man was quick to drink the entire glass. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until he saw the food in front of him. He quickly ate, his eyes trained down on the table as he did so. 

“Reesh...” Till spoke suddenly, startling the other out of his thoughts. “What the hell happened? Where were you?”

Richard paused in search of the right words, but he couldn’t even begin to explain. 

“Stasi.” 

Till swore softly under his breath, all too familiar with how horrible the state police bastards could be. He glanced up at his friend, taking in the details of his abused face. 

“Do you want to go to the hospital?” Till asked the other, trying to gauge how he was feeling. He knew there was absolutely no way to afford it, but he would try. 

Richard shook his head. 

“Well, I’ll clean you up and we can take it from there, alright?” The older man spoke tenderly as he placed a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder. “I’ll call the guys and cancel practice tomorr—“

“I’m leaving.” Richard interrupted with an emotionless voice, still refusing to make eye contact with the other. 

“What?” Till asked with confusion. 

“I’m escaping.”

“Reesh, think about this for a minute.” Till pressed, trying to stop his friend from making an irrational decision. “This really isn’t a good—“

“I’m leaving next week, and there’s nothing you can do that will change my mind.” He took a deep breath and finally looked at his bandmate. His eyes were unreadable. 

“I’m sorry, Till.”  
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**21 Years Later**

Till stalked through the dressing rooms, his nerves now at their end. He didn’t know whether to be pissed off or worried, so he settled for a strange mixture of both. He slammed the door to the room he was just in and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, dialing the number he had long since memorized. 

_It rang once._

__

_Twice._

__

_Three times._

“Hello?”

“Richard, where the fuck are you?!” Till growled with frustration. “We’re on in two hours and nobody’s seen you since we left the hotel this morning! What are you thinking?!”

“I’m at one of the other stages. I have to meet someone.” Was all the guitarist responded with. 

“Who?!” Till retorted angrily, strongly annoyed by his bandmate’s carelessness. “This is ridiculous.”

“Till, just relax. I can handle myself.” Richard replied, his voice strangely calm and level despite the fact that he was being chewed out by his vocalist. “I’ll be there within the hour.”

Till was about to snap at him, but the other had ended the call. 

“Fucking bastard.” He muttered. 

Meanwhile, on the complete opposite side of the festival grounds, Richard stood silently on the side of the stage. He watched the band that was playing with muddled interest, although his mind was elsewhere. Their set was soon over, and they left the stage after a long bow. Richard took a deep breath and headed towards the backstage area. He lit a cigarette in a desperate attempt to call his nerves, but it didn’t help. He threw it on the ground and put it out with his boot before heading towards the dressing rooms. He walked down the hallways, unsure as to how he was going to find him. However, he turned a corner and froze at what he saw. 

He was standing right there. 

For a moment, Richard thought he wouldn’t be able to approach him. He was about to turn around to leave when the other suddenly glanced over at him. They stared at one another in complete silence, until Richard finally spoke up. 

“Mike—well, Teufel?” Richard questioned tentatively as he slowly walked closer. 

“Richard, from Rammstein?” The other responded incredulously and with utter confusion. 

Richard nodded shyly before speaking again. “Do you remember me? We met a long time ago. And uhh, well...” He paused, struggled to find the right words. 

“I wanted to say thank you.”

Mike smiled and embraced him tightly.  
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**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys liked it! 
> 
> I originally wanted this to be way longer, as I planned to write a lot about the aftermath as well. I think there's a ton of potential for a very good story about Till comforting Richard and possibly even both of their views on Richard's escape from (and later return to) East Berlin. However, my muse has changed quite a lot recently and I don't think I'll ever write that second part...sorry. I probably won't be writing too many more R+ fics, SO ENJOY THEM WHILE YOU CAN. 
> 
> As for the historical aspects of this story, I **strongly** urge you to look into the stuff that happened under the communist reign of East Berlin. There's an extremely rich (and often times disheartening) history, and I'm blown away by how many people have no idea of the extent of it, especially adults. Very interesting stuff.
> 
> Anyways. Again, I hope you liked it, and please feel free to leave comments, ask questions, or offer critique!


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